Secrets of the Sanctuary
by teB360
Summary: A series of drabbles revolving around the Dark Brotherhood; may become something more. An assassin named after Athyn of Great House Redoran embarks on the last quests for the Brotherhood, whilst carving out his own, individual path as the Listener for the Dark Brotherhood.
1. Chapter 1

**Secrets of the Sanctuary**

He'd worked hard for this moment; nearly scraping the blade of imminent death on more than one occasion; being thrown into rough scraps where he had no choice but to fight or die and then being betrayed by the one woman leading his entire organisation.

He wanted to savour this moment. His arrows in his quiver weren't to be touched as this called for a much more personal touch he decided. The assassin drew out his long, dark blade that glowed sanguine red with an utterly sinister enchantment, named simply after what it delivered; The Blade of Woe.

It was much longer than any standard dagger and much sharper than any of master crafting. The blade seemed to tremble with a hunger in his hand as he tightened his grip on the handle and crept behind his final mark; Emperor Titus Mede the second, who stood silently and sombrely by the window; awaiting his final fate.

He wasted no thought or second as he pulled back the Emperor's head and sharply drew a red smile across his exposed neck. The blood spewed out and splattered across the stain glass windows that shone an eerie collection of yellows and blues that were cast across the two dark figures slumped in an unholy embrace, before his body dropped unceremoniously to the wooden panelled floor in a crumpled heap in the rich, royal, reds and blues that made up his fine, felt, robes.

There was no time wasted as the assassin located a heavy key that'd fallen to the ground; coated in a sheen of blood that continued to pump from the Emperor's grinning throat. He picked it up and wiped it on a piece of cloth he'd produced from a small pocket located on his leather chest piece before dropping it over the Emperor's face, along with a dark bloom of Nightshade; his personal calling-card.  
The assassin then proceeded to skilfully slink out the door he'd newly unlocked. The salt in the air was heavy and the winds whipped past his hood and mask. The ship rocked over a wave with a slow, aching shudder before the assassin climbed up on the delicately carved wooden rails, and gracefully leapt off the lip of the ship; diving deep into the cool, salty ocean awaiting him, below.

.-.


	2. The Newbloods

**Secrets of the Sanctuary**

The newbloods, as they were casually nicknamed, were lined up shoulder to shoulder in the main hall of the Sanctuary. They each wore the matching red and black studded leather armour with a dark, indented hand on the chestpiece; the label that marked fear deep into the heart of Skyrim. The Dark Brotherhood were back – fully restored and fully feared, once more.

Athyn was a reasonably tall Dunmeri man. His sharply pointed ears were pierced from the lobe and up to the point with a collection of silver rings that jutted out and shone against the reflected light of the surrounding firepits and torch sconces. A deep scar was slashed from his chin to approximately the centre of his left cheek, that weathered his appearance by a considerable amount despite his fairly young age. His black hair was shaved at one side, and let loose on the other – a typical Bosmeri hairstyle that he so happened to like.  
His lips were long and thin - almost too big for his narrow face - and often drawn tight or curled into a snarl, and his eyes were as sharp and as red as the tomato he held in his gloved hand.

"Welcome to the Dark Brotherhood." He greeted the recruits; pronouncing his words slowly, yet with a practiced ease shown through his smooth voice. As his eyes scoured the faces of the four new recruits, he tossed his tomato from his right hand to his left.

Out of the four of them, only one wasn't human. A female Khajiit was smiling ruefully back at him and had locked her deep green eyes on his. He made no move to look away, instead he continued with his introduction.

"I've had my eyes on you." He said, his voice melting from rounded and smooth to something darker and harsher. "The Dread Father has been watching, and he likes what he sees." As Athyn paused, he tossed his tomato between his hands again and glanced across the room at the eyes trying to catch onto his. "He knows what you've done and why you're here, best out of anyone.

"You're all men and women grown, and you're all seasoned killers. But there's the difference. What _is_ a killer, when he stands next to a trained assassin? Out of the four of you, I can tell you now that at most, only two of you will survive past the first few contracts you will receive.  
"You've all had your lives beforehand, but now you live for Sithis and you will forever serve him in The Void, and will continue to serve, even in death.

"I am Athyn of house Redoran; named after a great, great, relative of mine. You may have heard of him, I will save you the details." He tossed the tomato back into his left hand and brought it up to his mouth. "I am the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, and I come second _only_ to the Night Mother." With that, his teeth bit into the red flesh of the fruit in his hand and he let the juices run to his chin.

**I had a _lot_ of fun with the verification code just so I could log onto my account, so I could post this D:**


	3. Astrid

**Secrets of the Sanctuary**

Athyn's shadow was cast stark over the tall wooden mannequin that stood proud and displayed his prized armour. He'd polished the leather surface and studs, touched it up where there were tears, and had it reinforced by his old friend Adrienne Avenicci on several different occasions.

She'd obviously recognised something about the armour when he'd presented it to her, once upon a time. She never said anything, of course. She kept whatever was going on in her head to herself, kept her nose in her own business like a good merchant should, and never asked questions. That was what Athyn had liked about her, the most. In fact, that was probably one of her aspects that attracted him to her. Not that he could have her, of course. She was happily married to a bear of a man who's name escaped him, but that never stopped him from shamelessly and casually flirting with her – not that she ever paid attention or even picked up on several of his advances, before.

His mind skipped over to when his armour was first presented to him. Astrid, leaning against the wall. Her long, ash blonde hair splayed out and braided in several parts over her shoulders. Her full, Sanguine lips curling into a sickening half smile as her hard blue eyes examined him from head to toe. He was almost erect, feeling her eyes take in his body, summing him up from the scratches and scars that marked his exposed skin.

He remembered what he was wearing, too. The armour of The Old Gods, a gift from Madanach after his time spent in Cidhna mine. The furs, feathers and skulls that made up the armour he wore still managed to expose the lean muscle that banded his long arms and lithe legs, and revealed a hint of his toned and muscular torso. Instead of wearing the traditional Forsworn deer head helmet, he wore instead a lowered hood that shaded the top half of his facial features. On his left hip, a glass war axe was strapped, and there was a steel dagger strapped to his left boot for emergencies.

He'd gotten changed and met his fellow 'brothers and sisters' right in the midst of little Babette telling a story of her most recent contract.

Despite the beauty of Gabriella and his curiosity towards Cicero, nothing could take his eyes off Astrid, not even her huge, hulking beast of a husband who'd threatened to 'go wolf' on him for simply letting his eyes follow after her whenever she wandered past with that ever so catlike walk of hers.

Her 'catlike walk' extended further into her personality, the more Athyn had gotten to know her. She did things as she saw fit, had no regard of how anyone else felt about it, and she clung onto power no matter the cost, right until her breaking point.

Despite their obvious differences, Athyn easily saw Astrid as an equal – in personality and skill. Although he wasn't near as catlike as she was, he shared those similar traits with her. Astrid knew this too, and something of an attraction had drawn the two together, right under the very noses of the family.

Things had began to change once he'd been declared as 'Listener' by the Nightmother herself. It'd been a threat to Astrid's very standing and position and she had not taken it lightly. Their casual flirting grew into harsh words, snarls, and glares. But they both soon knew that deep down, underlying all of their petty arguments and foul-play, there was something more that lingered between their struggle for power.

In the end, Athyn hadn't even realised how it'd happened. He'd come back to the Sanctuary after killing off a particularly hardened war hero, and things hadn't gone quite as planned. He was ambushed by his target's friends – veterans of The Great War, and he'd barely managed to escape with his life after the mark fell to his knees in death.

He was exhausted when he'd stumbled down the steps into Astrid's 'office' – the first chamber of the Sanctuary. There she was, sitting on the edge of her desk, kicking her feet back and forth and letting the tips of her boots scrape along the stone floors. She looked up and saw him. His lip had been busted and the blood was dried; there was a gash on his chestpiece that'd been ripped open at the front of his armour, and his shrouded cowl was missing; his short black hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and there was a bandage wrapped around his right bicep with the blood showing through.

Astrid had smirked at him, and before he knew it, his hands were on her hips, his mouth crushing hers, and her fingers had tightened in his hair and pulled him closer to her, pressing their bodies against each other. His fingers had clawed at her tightened buckles and fittings of her armour and hers did the same. Her armour had eventually peeled off her curvaceous form and his had fallen off of him in broken and torn pieces. Their mouths were on each other's again, their bodies convulsing as he'd pushed his hardened length inside of her and they fought each other as they'd found each other. Biting, scratching, cursing and growling.

Everything was a struggle for power; for dominance over the other. Athyn had always resulted in completely pinning her down, were it against her desk, a wall or on her and Arnbjorn's very bed. She couldn't move as he crushed her under his weight, cursing her and digging his teeth into her neck or breast. There were other times when she'd held her glowing, Sanguine red dagger to his throat, pushing him down onto her bed, and sliding onto his length and exerted her dominance whilst rocking up and down, back and forth until neither could tolerate it and let out their frustrations with one last thrust.

The mannequin that stood proud before Athyn almost looked ready to come to life, draw a dagger from nowhere, and attack him. The armour it bore was intimidating; frightening even, and it told the story of his time in The Dark Brotherhood before the fall of the Falkreath Sanctuary. Before Astrid ordered him to kill her. Before she betrayed him in a petty attempt to get back at him, when she knew she had lost her hold on the family.

He could still see the long cut on the chestpiece that dug from the centre of the red hand print, and slashed towards his shoulder. It'd been patched up countless times as it'd become a point of weakness as the years went by, but Athyn had never opted to wear his reds and blacks since the Brotherhood had relocated to the old Dawnstar Sanctuary. Instead, he wore plain black, a thicker cuirass, tall boots that laced up to his knees and a heavy black cloak over the top. On his chest was the mark of death; the Black Hand.

Athyn Redoran had developed from the skulking assassin in the night, to the shadow on the wall. He struck fear deep into the hearts of all he flew past on his steed Shadowmere; he _became_ fear itself, and he _loved_ it.


End file.
